Red Mountain (2 page)

Standing below a large tree with his arms tied behind him is the owner of the farmhouse, Jared Horn. He’s a tall man, with piercing green eyes and long white beard. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound to his right armpit, soaking the sleeve of his gingham shirt. He is remarkably calm for a man about to die.

Two of his executioners, Arvin and Palmer, carefully fix a noose around Jared’s neck. A large man named Hemmel shoves more firewood below Horn’s feet, and the small jostling causes the rough hemp rope to tighten. Horn only smiles when the ring around his throat starts to burn. He turns his head to see a young redheaded boy named Stu walk out of the front door of his home carrying a leather sack stuffed with valuables. The bag is too heavy for the boy, and he soon lets it scrape against the ground. Stu meets Horn’s eye only briefly, before turning his attention to the task of strapping the load to his horse.

The men finish their work and back away from Horn quietly. Stu joins them as soon as he’s done. He cups his hand, puts a match to a cigarette and coughs.

“Be careful boy, those things will stunt your growth,” says Arvin, grinning.

Stu takes another drag to show he can take it, but a coughing fit causes him to double over. He drops the cigarette on the ground and puts it out with his toe. When he looks up, his eyes are watering and the others are all chuckling softly.

“Jump in a lake, fellas. I bet you all puked after your first smoke.”

“You got yourself an iron stomach, boy? I guess we’ll just have to see about that,” says Palmer.

“He’s just like his daddy was,” says Arvin. “Always trying to show he’s tougher than an oak shithouse.”

Palmer produces a bottle of whiskey to pass around in the lantern light. Their eyes are already bloodshot from too much of it, but they pass it around anyway. They’ve spent the entire day getting shit faced, so there’s no sense in tapering off now, especially now.

Raised several feet above them on a pile of split firewood, Horn stares down at the men, smiling.

“What are you so happy about, Jared?” says Palmer. “This time you’re finally going to get what you deserve.”

Jared laughs, spits a bloody wad at their feet. “Looks like the whiskey must have given the so-called vigilantes some courage. But you still look like a bunch of cowards from up here.”

Stu finishes a hearty slug and passes the bottle to Hemmel. The boy pie-eyed and his speech is slurred. “Just watch us you son-of-a-bitch. We’re gonna do you like a murderer and a witch.”

“No, you’re the murderers, lad. This ain’t no court of law.”

“It’s good enough for us,” shouts Palmer.

Hemmel picks up a rock and throws it at Horn. It strikes him in the temple, causing a thick flow of blood to run down the side of his face. “We’re sending you back to hell where you belong,” Hemmel says in a thick German accent, “And we’re taking what you owe us for the trouble of doing it.”

“Wherever I go, I’ll certainly have you devils as my company. And that’s a promise boys.”

Palmer removes a matchstick from his teeth and takes a wobbly step closer toward Horn. “And we promise to kill the rest of your kin if we ever find them.”

Horn shrugs his shoulders “Do what you must, but when I see you again, you’ll sooner be hung by the neck twenty times than suffer what I shall bring upon you.”

“I’ve heard enough,” says Arvin. “What the hell are we waiting for? We’ve still got a long ride home tonight and I’m afraid it won’t be a dry one.”

Palmer picks up one of the kerosene lamps and throws it at Horn. The lamp bursts into flames and sets the pile of wood on fire. Jared screams and tries to kick away the burning wood, but every movement he makes causes the rope around his neck to choke him more.

Stu picks out a flaming chunk of firewood and tosses it through the open door of the farmhouse. Flames soon erupt inside, followed by the sounds of exploding glass.

“Goodbye, Jared Horn,” says Hemmel. He leans forward and spits on the ground.

Thunder crackles above them, and when they look up they see an enormous blue-black cloud hovering in the sky above. Rain first patters gently against their hats and leather jackets, then swiftly builds intensity. Hissing tendrils of steam wind upwards as Horn’s body spasms above a glowing mound of coals. Flames lick up the rope attached to his neck toward the gnarled limb above.

Stu is on his hands and knees vomiting up what little food he’s eaten today. The smell of Horn’s burning flesh has made his stomach lurch. It wasn’t as if he’d never smelled burning meat before, he keeps reminding himself. When he was eight he and his uncle were forced to put down several rabid horses and cows. They’d had no choice but to shoot them all in the head, roll them into a pit, and set them on fire.

But this was different. More foul than Stu could ever imagine. The smoke had worked its way up his nostrils like a severed pair of dead man’s fingers and slid down his throat and knotted in his gullet.

Arvin pats Stu on the back and offers a hand to help him up. The boy can’t take his eyes off the figure wheezing with fire. One of Horn’s hands remained raised and his blackened index finger has curled as if he were beckoning Stu to come closer. The boy watches, trembling.

Arvin puts his arm around his nephew and turns him gently around. “He’s dead, boy. He ain’t ever coming back to cause us harm.”

The ranchers walk back to their horses as the rain turns to hail stone. They mount their horses and stare soberly at the body of Horn one last time before riding off into the darkness.

CHAPTER 4

Robert drove to the vet’s to pick up Nugget. Dr. Jordan had told him over the phone that his dog was doing much better.

“I thought she might have had a concussion,” he’d said, “But she appears to have made a full recovery. To be honest, I’m kind of surprised.”

“She’s a tough customer,” Robert replied.

Nugget also had strong family instincts. Back when Connor was learning to ride his bike a teenager on a skateboard had bumped into him accidentally and sent him shooting out into traffic. Peggy and Robert were too far away to do anything about the oncoming truck, but Nugget took charge and put herself in front of the vehicle. Luckily the driver saw her and screeched to a halt. Nugget hadn’t flinched—just bared her teeth and growled at the surprised driver until Connor was safely out of harm’s way.

Robert took some aspirin and washed them down with the last of his bottled water. God was he thirsty. He’d already guzzled two liter-sized bottles and needed to stop for more. Although he didn’t feel hungry, he knew he should eat. He was going to need the energy. His family was still alive. One way or another, he was going to bring them home.

The man who called him this morning had handed Peggy the phone to prove to Robert that she was still alive. Her spirit hadn’t been shattered, but he’d sensed right away that she was worried about Connor. He’d had a flash-vision of himself waiting in a teller line at a bank. An icy sweat was trickling down his back. In his hand was a note demanding money. And tucked in his waist band was a gun…

“I promise you I’m going to get you out of this no matter what it takes. How’s Connor holding up?”

There was a long pause in which he only heard the blare of the television in the background. Then Peggy started crying.

“He’s not doing very well… I’m afraid Robert.”

“Did they hurt him?”

“No. It’s just…. He won’t open his eyes… I’ve never seen him like this before. He was so scared when they came into his room last night. It’s like he’s blocking everything out right now, going through some kind of shock. I don’t know what to do other than hold him.”

Robert felt a murderous rage begin to fill him, familiar black waters.

“Listen. You’ve got to keep talking to him, try to get him to open up… Tell him his daddy is coming to get you both back.”

“I’ll try…”

“I love you Peg…”

“I love you Rob…”

“I think that’s enough for today,” interrupted the kidnapper’s cheerful drawl. “We’ve got some business to discuss now Mr. Crain.”

Robert was dizzy with violent thoughts as the man talked. The kidnapper acted so nonchalant that he might as well have been instructing Robert on how to baste ribs over a barbeque.

Had he heard the man correctly? It was all so unreal. So fucking insane…

****

Several hours later the drug was just a distant bass-beat in his head. He had one hell of a headache, but at least he had some control over his flurry of thoughts. He was still tormented by the idea that the morning’s conversation had been a hallucination. The feeling had remained lodged in the back of his mind like a painful splinter.

At midnight tonight he was to go to the upper Mt. Tabor reservoir, located in a city park less than twenty minutes from where he lived. A place where he and his family took Nugget for long walks. There he’d meet his first opponent, a man wearing a bright orange hunter’s cap. If he succeeded in eliminating his opponent, he and his family would be spared another day.

“Excuse me? What do you mean when you say eliminated?”

“Killed, if you need me to be more precise.”

“Listen asshole. You’re out of your fucking mind. If you think…”

“Call me Walker. Please. There are three rules, Mr. Crain. No cops and no weapons, except those which you can improvise from the pre-arranged location.”

“How will you know I’m not bringing anything with me?”

“You will be frisked.”

“And the third rule?”

“You must fight to the death.”

Robert began to tremble. If he’d still smoked cigarettes he’d have finished a whole pack by now. No, two packs at least. Unfiltered.

“You’re full of shit. You know either way I’m dead.”

Walker puffed his cigar and groaned. “Come on Mr. Crain, don’t go underestimating yourself.”

Robert had fallen silent. He knew he’d have to agree to the rules. But it didn’t mean he had to follow them. There had to be a way to play this, some way he could turn things around and still manage to get his family back alive. He had to believe it…

“If I’m the one who gets killed, then what happens to my family?”

“That’s entirely up to the mercy of the winner. The decision will rest with him.”

“And if I survive, I get my family back alive?”

“Not right away. You will still have one more opponent to face. Once you have successfully eliminated him, your family will be returned.”

“What about the cops? You don’t think they’ll be interested when bodies start turning up all over town?”

“My people will take care of things, Mr. Crain. The police won’t find any traces to begin with.”

“What’s this really about? Are you too cheap to pay somebody to kill people you don’t want around? Or are you doing some new variation of a snuff film? Is this what kind of sick fuck you really are?”

Walker let out an impatient sigh. “No sir, this isn’t that kind of thing.”

“Then why? Does this have anything to do with Barney or my father?”

“I can assure you we are not trying to deliver retribution on you in any way, Mr. Crain. We too are simply following instructions.”

“Instructions from whom?”

“This isn’t the appropriate time to explain. You should be getting yourself prepared now, just as your opponent is doing at this very moment. I promise you, he will be very driven to kill you—has been for several days now.”

“Do I know him?”

“No, Mr. Crain. I can assure you you’re complete strangers. He’s just another good man like you who wants to take care of his family.”

Robert had stood up and stared out the kitchen window. Connor’s bicycle lay on the porch, its front tire turning in the wind, spokes clacking against a playing card clipped to the frame. An image of the Joker bent forward and back, as if possessed by a bout of riotous laughter. Robert looked away.

“So how do I know you aren’t just setting me up?”

“Pardon?”

“How do I know you won’t be waiting at the park to gun me down?”

“Gun you down. What for?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe you’re a serial killer who gets his kicks that way. Maybe you like to take out the husband before you do the rest of the family.”

Walker gasped like a shocked old woman, mocking Robert’s suggestion.

“Goodness, it’s not like that at all. I realize it’s impossible for me to prove my sincerity to you, but you will soon see I’m a man of my word. By the way, too bad about your shoulder. However, we do have a tight schedule and can’t allow you any time to get better. I’m sorry Mr. Crain, but I must go now.”

“Wait…”

“Goodbye, Mr. Crain. Good luck.”

And then the man hung up.

It had all happened so fast. And now Robert’s mind was spinning in too many directions at once. What am I going to do? How long do I have to find them?